Black Mirror
by Sapphire1112
Summary: Set at the end of series 32 episode 30. A Sam/Dylan fic because I think they should be together. From Sam's POV. I do not own the characters.


**Dear Dylan,**

 **I just wanted to say that I'm sorry for shouting earlier. I wasn't angry at you. I know that you're struggling at the moment – probably more than you'd admit to. The last thing I want to do is make things worse for you, so I'm going to be more honest than I've ever been – in the hope that it makes you realise how special you really are – especially to me. I know you don't go for all that 'soppy' stuff, that's why I never told you when we were married. Maybe it would have helped you if I had. I also know that you would rather read it in a letter – so here it is.**

 **I hope that knowing the truth will help you now, but please don't think that I am, in any way trying to make excuses for cheating on you. It was wrong and I will never stop regretting it. I treated you terribly, and in doing so, I lost the best thing I ever had.**

 **I was so happy to see you every time I came back from a tour, but when I did, your mind was elsewhere. Now I know where that was, but at the time, I believed that you just didn't love me any more – that in my absence, you'd 'grown out of me'. You were my world and it broke my heart to think that the job I'd chosen and once savoured had lost me my husband. The more I was away, the more lonely I got – and I think that you must have been to, though whether you'd ever admit to that, I don't know. Anyway, I stupidly and selfishly turned to someone else.**

 **When I asked you for a divorce, I'd made the choice to let you go so that you could find someone else – someone better. I had no right to keep holding on to you and I knew I couldn't ever expect you to trust me again. I know that I can't have back what we once had – nor do I deserve to. Losing you was my own fault, but you deserve to be happy. I hate that you're struggling and I hate that I didn't notice when we were married. If I had been around more then maybe I would have, but even so, I should have asked. I should have noticed. I should have been a better wife.**

 **You can beat this, Dylan – because you really are brilliant. I only wish that I had treasured what I had when we were married. If I could go back, I would choose you over everything else, every time that I didn't.**

 **I tried to move on, thinking that it would help us both to get some sort of closure, but it didn't help me – and I don't think it helped you. I was devastated when you resigned and moved away. I tried not to show it, but the truth is that you were never far from my thoughts, no matter how far away you were – and eventually, Tom got fed up with being second best.**

 **I've messed up pretty much everything in my life so far. I hope I can at least do one good thing and help you in some way. Maybe the truth will help.**

 **I love you Grumpy and I'll never stop.**

 **Sam x**

I wander away from his boat, having posted my olive branch under the door. After a while, I find myself leaning over the railings and staring down into the depths. The street light next to me shines and reveals my sorry-looking reflection – a sort of black mirror, and I don't like what I see.

I sit down, my legs dangling over the edge – thought the rest of me remains behind the railings. I still have a little of the sense I was born with. I look at the woman staring back. There has to be something else in me – I have to be better than this. I just don't know where to begin. Every fresh start I've had, has met its end all to soon. Any angel in me was usurped by the devil long ago. Every seed planted has always lacked growth – and every root has encountered weed killer or rock.

 _This wasp has drowned._

I have no idea how long I've been sat there, when I feel breath on my neck and an arm snakes its way around my waist where I sit. I'm quite a way from his boat, so he must have come out looking for me.

"Come on." His gruff voice says as he crouches behind me. He pulls me to my feet and takes my hand. His hands are always unexpectedly warm. "I read your letter. I didn't realise you saw our marriage like that." He tells me – not for the first time. That was a conversation we once had after a particularly hard day down a cave – just before I asked him for a divorce. It's not a conversation I'm going to forget.

He leads me along to the stretch of water he's made his home on. "I'm glad you were on this side of the railings." He comments, implying my fondness for risk-taking – something he struggled with constantly during our 'five-minute' marriage. "Unless that was the intention?" He adds.

There is no doubt in what he's suggesting and his question is accompanied by a nervousness that I haven't seen in him before. He can't bring himself to say the words.

"No." I reassure him quickly. "I have no intention of doing that."

"Good." He answers, as his boat appears before us. "So what _were_ you doing?"

"Just...staring at my reflection." I mutter as he helps me step on to his boat. "The water was like a... _black mirror._ I was trying to work out how to be...better."

He stares at me with unusual bewilderment – as though he actually doesn't understand my statement. "Everyone just wants you to be yourself." He informs me. "Nothing else."

Of course, by 'everyone' he means himself. That's just Dylan's way of saying that he doesn't want me to change.

He's not good with words – unless they're medical terms, and he's not good at the 'soppy' stuff. He prefers, to refer to himself as the 'royal we' when things get too emotion- based.

As we enter his boat, he takes my jacket off me and motions to the sofa – which is partially occupied by the dog. "Sit down and wrap up – it's cold out there." He mumbles awkwardly, handing me a blanket off the back of the sofa. "I'll put the kettle on."

"Thanks." I respond – taking a seat somewhere I never thought I'd sit – a seat on Dylan's boat. I'm grateful for the blanket because it is quite chilly outside and I was only wearing a light jacket.

"There isn't anyone better." He announces completely matter-of-factly as the kettle starts boiling.

When you've been married to a brilliant man like Dylan, you get used to the sudden announcements, which would normally come as part of a heart-felt speech. Instead, they tend to come as factual – but genuine statements, void of any emotion. The feelings are implied, but sometimes it can be hard to work out the best way to answer.

"There isn't." He repeats when I don't reply.

"Surely someone better would have honoured you as a wife should." I comment, deciding that it would be better to 'stroll' down the general path next to him, rather than 'dragging' him down the emotional road.

He walks over with two cups of coffee and hands me one. "Move pleaser, Dervela." He orders gruffly to the dog – who looks slightly miffed to be moved from her comfortable seat, but obeys and curls up in her basket instead. "I wish you hadn't had an affair, Sam, but I was too wrapped up in my own problems to give you any attention." He tells me, sitting down. "If I had told you what was going on, it might have been different."

"I should have asked. I should have noticed." I mutter, unintentionally repeating statements from the letter I wrote.

He sighs and pulls me into one of his very unexpected hugs. They've never happened often, but they're incredibly comforting when they do. "As much as you like to pretend you have psychic abilities, Sam." He remarks. "You don't."

We sit in silence, drinking our coffee for a while and his arm remains draped over my shoulder. It's uncharacteristic – certainly for nowadays. We did sit like this before – and during our marriage, but not very often. Back then, I thought that was just Dylan and I accepted it. Now though, I'm wondering if he's actually more affectionate generally, in private, than I thought. Perhaps back then, he was pre-occupied by the crippling secret he felt he couldn't share. Maybe it was just easier for him to shut me out.

Eventually, Dylan decides to question my letter further. "Tom knew he was second best?"

I automatically tense up at the mention of my second husband and he squeezes my shoulder. I was more or less responsible for the breakdown of both my marriages – and that's not something I'm proud of.

"Yes." I agree. "Apparently, I talk in my sleep."

Dylan chuckles at me fondly. "I know you do."

I feel myself blushing. "Oh. Well, let's just say that it wasn't him that I was talking about!"

"It's a bad habit, sleep-talking." Dylan remarks with a grin and it suddenly occurs to me that I can't remember the last time I even saw him smile.

"There are _worse_ habits!" I protest. "Like um – I don't know...sleep-walking or-"

"Especially on a boat!" He interjects with another chuckle. "You could end up going swimming by accident!"

I forgot how much I like this side of him – when he's comfortable and relaxed. No one at work gets to see him like this, because a hospital is always a stressful environment. Maybe I can't have back what we had, but it warms my heart to see how quickly he relaxed in my company.


End file.
